


Void ᵈᵒʷᵒᵒ

by EndlessDowoo



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, dowoo, just implied, not explicit tho, so much angst holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessDowoo/pseuds/EndlessDowoo
Summary: The void drove them to madness.©CosmosLycoris





	Void ᵈᵒʷᵒᵒ

Jungwoo slept deeply but with a melancholic expression.

Doyoung could only look at him and, even if he had tried waking him up several times, with kisses and touches, nothing ever worked. He wished to wipe away that trail of dry tears that had left a mark, like a lifeless waterfall. Maybe he would’ve liked to prepare breakfast for him, packed with vitamins, so he could gain his strength back and leave behind his pale skin. He probably wouldn’t be able to find a solution to those prominent dark circles under his eyes but Doyoung, with his whole heart, wished to make Jungwoo laugh one more time.

The boy with delicate hands and careful touch stroked the hair of the sleeping young man, noticing the different brown tones that played to be darker and clearer as sunlight passed through them. He looked at him with great passion, from his long lashes to his fragile, colorless lips.

He put his own against his, kissing his eternal lover. But he felt nothing, he didn’t sense the intense warmth that the intimate union of skin provoked him, he couldn’t taste his vanilla lips. It was more than a void and Doyoung also didn’t have the capacity to cry for that.

The sensation of nothingness is soothing; it’s a non-existent, volatile and even fantasy type of feeling, because that level is only reached by elements such as gases, clouds, dust. It is misunderstood freedom. To have the power to feel nothingness is only possible for that which is a whole, like the universe.

This is the phase Doyoung is in.

 

 

Jungwoo started his day with the same routine as always: two cups of coffee, one strong and one with milk, chop fruit and put it in small crystal bowls, set cutlery for two people and sitting at the table, in the same spot. He skimmed through a cook he had started a few days ago, but the boy was a slow reader; he preferred to take his time just so he wouldn’t miss a detail. He smiled at the yellowy pages of a text plagued with sadness and abandonment, with death.

The uninterrupted sighs and yawns exposed the tiredness, terribly visible in his beautiful features, but not even that could take away his unique grace. Jungwoo seems like a miracle in the middle of so much disillusion.

“The book is getting more and more interesting” he said out of the blue, with a tone that was audible for whoever had an acute sense of hearing. He got no response. It was just hear by Doyoung.

The young man got up after finishing his breakfast, which at first glance seemed healthy but insufficient to be called that way. He looked straight ahead, to the empty chair

“You should finish your coffee, Doyoung” he grimaces and again, he received no words in return.

But he didn’t flinch. On the contrary, he returned to his simple expression, picked up everything from the table and washed every dish, cup and fork.

 

 

Jungwoo had the quality of easing his surroundings, but who calms him down? Nobody pauses for a second to think about the behind the scenes of a life, of a person: out of respect or lack of interest. Although guessing where the well-being of that boy was coming from, it wasn’t very complicated: Kim Doyoung.

He was looking at a photo album of thick and rustic paste, he passed the portraits, making an early reminiscence of each scene and laughing when he recalled a funny moment.

“I remember when we got lost in the forest, just because I had the map turned upside down” the echo was loud, but Jungwoo wasn’t interested in it; he was immersed in his world based on the past. “Do you remember?” Doyoung nodded, only that. “Don’t be shy, you can laugh at me, it's inevitable” Kim Jungwoo, spoke to the air.

 

 

Jungwoo hadn’t left home for a week, didn’t answer the phone, didn’t use his laptop. His routine was eating, watching TV, reading and sleeping, along with the respective hygiene care, but everything was a vile deceit.

At ten o'clock, pajama on and sitting on the edge of the bed, Jungwoo cried at the top of his lungs for hours, losing his breath and most likely without soul in his body. He wanted to discover death in sadness, to disappear and disintegrate his feelings, for his lover to take him, to hell if that were the case. Nothing interested him, let alone continue with the martyrdom of not having him at his side. It had been so many days without him, so many hours of lying to himself in a vicious cycle of psychosis, camouflaged by neutrality. Convinced of his presence but defeated at night because he didn’t feel his warmth before sleeping.

Only at this moment did he really notice the murderous silence, which didn’t help him cope with his thoughts.

“Why me? Why?” every braincell struggled to send positive signals to every part of his body but it was a lost cause. The spasm-driven body needed a way to release all the stress and tension, so Jungwoo paced back and forth in an irregular way, without any sense nor purpose. He ruffled his hair impulsively, almost pulling it. When he finally lost the forced sanity of that day, the young man took his pillow and hit it again and again on the floor, until he saw the goose feathers fly off. He pulled the sheets with great force, causing some tears to that fabric that covered the mattress, the beige-colored, both boys’ favorite. He knocked over the small table on the side of the bed, where a small-sized lamp and a digital alarm clock resided. His sobs became worrisome cries of panic mixed with the sharpest and worst pain: the mental one.

“Talk to me Doyoung. Don’t stay silent, I know you're there. Please…” a pitiful plea that would only be lost as steam, impossible to be trapped in a jar and thrown into the sea, with the hope that the right person will receive it.

A squeak coming from the door startled the boy

“It's you, right? I know you want to give me a signal, I'm sure” the face soaked in different fluids recreated a work of an artist probably sunk in depression, expressing details of extreme beauty but retouching the depths of the human being. “You would never leave me alone. Never, because you love me” he fell to the floor exhausted, breathlessly, scratching the floor, damaging his cuticles and repeating a name as if it depended on them. " _Doyoung_ ", again and again.

 

And Doyoung only watched the growing madness of the one in front of him, a mess, laying on the ground. He almost fell asleep and wanted to hug him and put him on the bed so he would be more comfortable, something totally impossible. He wanted to be the cure to that parasite that had dominated his head and reproduced dangerously, soon to dominate every cell of the boy, but there was no cure for the suffering of the loss of a loved one.

 

 

There are two types of non-living beings, which are unwilling to leave the world of humans: those who died with hatred inside them, which on very few occasions, manage to walk to the place where their body belongs without vitality and those who died loving. The first manage to have light contact with the material, crossing the veil of death, causing anomalies; however, the latter, unable to materialize in the least, just wander waiting to be ready to leave.

Doyoung, from the first moment, had loved Jungwoo and died with the same feeling. So now he was nothing, even though Jungwoo believed him to be his all, before, now and always.

Unfair for a couple of lovers who didn’t have the deserved destiny. Doyoung tried to protect him, to communicate or even to accompany him in his sorrow, but those abilities were taken from him as well as his last breath.

He was the spectator of a flower in the process of withering, because no one changes the water, no matter how beautiful it looks as a centerpiece, ready to perish.

 

 

Jungwoo prepared hot cakes: some with honey as he liked, and some with blueberry jam, as Doyoung liked. He continued the interrupted reading and smiled at the pages, his mournful expression in the morning shone as bright as the sun in spring.

“You see? I didn’t burn them. I improved a lot in the kitchen” he really seemed satisfied.

Doyoung wondered if it was necessary for him to stay, he tried to watch over the young boy but the reality was different, both for the one who was alive and for the one who wasn’t.

Without voice, touch and with a vanished body, Doyoung pretended to be a guardian, transparent and invisible, as useful as a shadow.

There was no trace of their previous life, almost perfect just for being together. The only thing he had left was to watch as Jungwoo made his way into desperation. That would only be a second way to die, although Doyoung only cared to be with the boy until the end.

 

 

The mornings of deceptions and happy breakfasts, the afternoons of peace and desire to disappear, and the nights of sorrow and mental wear, only to later fall asleep and meet in dreams. This would be Doyoung's life, next to Jungwoo, from now on. Neither of them would escape the void between them.


End file.
